The Wrinkle in Time Quintet

by Madeleine L'engle

  “If rain comes, if my people no longer steal cattle and sheep from your people…”

  Romeo and Juliet all over again—or presaging—the People Across the Lake versus the People of the Wind? “I hope it will work out for you,” Polly said. “It would be”—she had no word for suitable, or appropriate—“right.”

  “I would make short the line between Anaral and me in a way I have never known before.”

  There was no word for love in Klep’s vocabulary, but Anaral would teach him.

  They were nearing the shore. Polly could see a shadow, someone standing there, waiting. She drove the paddle deep into the water and sent the canoe sliding up onto the pebbly sand. She jumped out and pulled the canoe far enough onto the shore so that it would not slide back into the lake. Og was at her side.

  The shadow came toward her. It was Tynak.

  “I have brought Klep to you,” she said.

  She was a goddess.

  She simply smiled at Tynak when he questioned her. “I have brought him to you. Isn’t that enough?” She was surprised at the haughtiness in her voice.

  As for Klep, he, too, smiled and said nothing. Pushing himself up with his arms, he looked about his village, and Polly recognized anew how much larger it was than the village of the People of the Wind. Tynak summoned four young men, who carried Klep to his tent, and it was one of the largest tents on the compound. Tynak and Polly followed, Polly making sure that Klep’s leg was not jolted. Og trotted by her side, occasionally reaching out to nudge her hand. He was not going to leave her.

  Klep was placed on his pallet, over which hung a great rack of antlers, even larger than the one in Dr. Louise’s kitchen.

  “When daylight comes,” Tynak said, “the healer will look at your leg.”

  Klep replied, “My leg is good. She”—he indicated Polly—“has the healing powers of the goddess.”

  Polly had stopped feeling goddess-like.

  Klep asked, “You are cold?”

  Even in Anaral’s sheepskin garment, she still felt the cold from the lake. Drawing herself up again, she ordered Tynak, “Have someone bring me my coat.” Not only would it feel comforting and familiar, but she wanted to know whether or not Tynak had taken Zachary’s icon.

  He spoke to one of the men who had carried Klep. “Quick!” And the man ran off swiftly.

  Klep spoke to Tynak. “Across the lake, I was well treated.”

  Tynak nodded. “Brown Earth told us the same.”

  “I was not treated as a prisoner or an enemy. I was treated as a friend.”

  Tynak shrugged. “Trust easily come by can vanish as easily.”

  Klep asked, “Where is the young man, Zak?”

  “In my tent. See, I am treating him with kindness.”

  “He is well?”

  Again Tynak shrugged. “The healer will tell.”

  The man came back with Polly’s red anorak, and she put it on over Anaral’s tunic, feeling in the pockets. The icon was gone. That was not surprising. She pulled out the flashlight and shone it directly in Tynak’s eyes. “Give me my angel,” she demanded.

  Tynak put his hands to his eyes in terror.

  She turned the flashlight off, then on again. “Give me my angel.”

  Tynak shook his head, though the flashlight had shaken him badly.

  Polly kept it shining into his eyes and he turned away. “The icon of the angel has no power in itself. The power of the angel is for me.” She touched her chest. “If you try to keep it, it will turn against you.”

  “Tomorrow,” he promised. “Tomorrow.”

  Where had he hidden it?

  She flicked off the flashlight. “Light that does not burn,” she said.

  She turned the flashlight on again, not to blind Tynak with its beam, but to give more light to the tent, and she could see that there were beads of sweat on Klep’s forehead and upper lip. The trip across the lake and then to his tent had been hard on him. Polly pointed to him with the light. “He needs rest. Someone should be near in case he calls.”

  Tynak understood. “Doe will stay.”

  “I want to go now,” Polly said. “I am tired and wish to rest.” She moved toward the tent flap, Og beside her.

  Tynak bowed and escorted her back to the lean-to, taking care not to get too close to Og. They were followed by two of the men who had carried Klep, not Brown Earth, but Onion and another man, squat and strong. Tynak spoke to them rapidly and sharply. Then he bowed and turned back toward Klep’s tent. The two men stationed themselves on either side of the lean-to. She was being guarded. She had proven that she could escape, and Tynak was going to see that this would not happen again.

  Polly went into the lean-to and pulled on her jeans under the sheepskin tunic. She was shivering with exhaustion as well as cold. She zipped up the anorak, then wrapped herself in the fur. She was so tired that she almost fell down on the pallet. Og lay beside her, warming her.

  When she woke to daylight, Tynak was again squatting at the entrance to the lean-to, watching her, eyeing Og, who was sitting up beside Polly, his ears alert. Her two guards had drawn respectfully away a few yards, but they were still there. It was one day off full moon.

  She sat up, regarded Tynak in silence for a moment, then demanded in a tone she hoped befitted a goddess, “Bring me my angel. Now.”

  He looked at her and his eyes were crafty.

  She felt in the anorak pockets and pulled out the notebook and pen. She opened the notebook, which must have been used by her grandfather, for the first pages were filled with incomprehensible equations in his scratchy writing. She held them up to Tynak. Then she turned to an empty page, and took the cap off the pen. She was no artist, but she managed a recognizable likeness of the old man. She held it out to him. Snatched it back as he reached for it.

  “Power,” she said. “It has great power. Bring me angel icon. Bring me Zachary. Bring me healer.”

  He stood. Held out his hand again. “I-con?”

  “Picture of you is not icon. You bring me angel icon, I give you picture. Pic-ture.”

  His hand reached for it.

  “Not now. When you come back with angel.”

  He left, walking with what dignity he could. The two guards drew in closer to the lean-to. After a few minutes Polly was brought a bowl of gruel by Doe, who looked fearfully at the dog. Polly took the bowl, said, “Thank you,” and put her hand on Og’s neck. “He won’t hurt you.”

  Og’s tail swished gently back and forth. Doe smiled, not coming closer, but standing and watching Polly. It was obvious that she would have liked to talk if she could. Polly thought that it was not only Og or the language difficulty. She suspected that Tynak had forbidden conversation.

  “Klep says careful,” Doe warned. “Careful.”

  One of the guards peered at them.

  “Thanks,” Polly said softly as the girl hurried away.

  She ate the gruel, which was dull but nourishing. It made her appreciate her grandmother’s oatmeal. Would she ever have that again? She put the bowl down at the entrance of the lean-to and waited. Waited. The great oak trunk behind the lean-to rose up high into the sky, much higher than the Grandfather Oak. Polly listened, and seemed to hear the heartthrob of the huge tree, the sap within the veins running slowly as it drew in for the winter. Patience. Do not fear. A star-line touches my roots and my roots are under you.

  The wind stirred the branches. Ruffled the waters of the lake. It was a warm wind, unseasonably warm. Listen to the heart of the oak. We are with you. Last night the water carried you safely. Trust us.

  Yes, she would trust. The universe is a universe. Everything is connected by the love of the Creator. It was as Anaral had said: it was people who caused problems. And the dark angels who were separators added to the damage.

  She waited. Og lay beside her, his tail across her legs. Suddenly he jumped to his feet, tail down, hair bristling.

  Tynak.

  He handed Polly the icon. She took it and
put it back in her anorak pocket, then drew out the notebook and tore out the page on which she had sketched Tynak, and gave it to him.

  He held it up, looked at it, turned the page over, saw only the blank page, and turned back to the sketch. Touched himself, touched the piece of paper, then put it carefully in his tunic. Satisfied, he gestured that she was to follow him. “Leave—” He gestured toward Og.

  “No. Og goes with me.”

  Tynak shook his head, but set off across the compound, looking back to see that Polly was following him. Several paces behind Polly, the two guards moved silently. Og walked slightly in front of her, putting himself between Polly and Tynak.

  The chief of the People Across the Lake led her to a tent considerably larger than the others. The flap was pegged open, and she could see inside. Zachary had been right: on poles stuck deep in the earth of the tent were skulls. Zachary was there, and an old man, far older than Tynak, thin and brittle as a winter leaf. But his face had a child’s openness, and his eyes were kind. He looked at Og questioningly, and Polly gestured to the dog that he was to lie down.

  “Where have you been?” Zachary’s voice shook with anxiety. “We were frantic. Where were you?” He rose from his pallet, his hair slightly damp, his eyes dark with fear. When she did not answer, he gestured to the old man. “This is their healer. He won’t touch me without you.”

  Polly looked at the old man and bowed slightly. He smiled at her, and it was a child’s smile, radiant and without fear. He pointed at her hair, nodding, nodding, as though both surprised and satisfied. Then he looked at Tynak, pointed again at Polly’s hair.

  Zachary said, “They think your red hair is another sign that you are a goddess. They go in for a lot of signs, these people. Now will you get the old man to take care of me?”

  “You may examine Zachary’s heart,” she said, and the role of goddess was not comfortable. She pressed her hand against her own chest, then pointed to Zachary’s.

  The old healer indicated that Zachary was to lie down. Then he knelt beside him. He took Zachary’s wrist in both his hands, touching it very lightly, just above the palm, listening intently, his eyes closed. Occasionally he lifted his fingers from Zachary’s pulse, lightly, seeming to hover over his wrist like a butterfly, or like a dragonfly over the waters of the lake. Then the fingers would drop again, gently.

  After a while he looked up at Polly with a slightly questioning regard. She nodded, and he looked at Zachary again, indicating that he was to remove his jacket and shirt.

  Obediently, Zachary complied, fingers shaking, then lay back down. The old healer knelt and bent over him, holding his hands stretched out about an inch above Zachary’s chest, moving his fingers delicately, cautiously, in concentric circles. After a long time he touched the tips of his fingers against Zachary’s skin. The healer waited, touching again, then hovering. Polly could almost see wings quivering. His palms pressed against Zachary’s chest. The old man leaned so that his whole weight was on his hands. After a moment he lifted his hands and sat back on his heels, his body drooping. His whole focus had been intensely on Zachary for at least half an hour.

  He looked at Polly and shook his head slightly. “Big hurt in heart.”

  Zachary cried out, “Can you fix it?”

  The healer spoke to Tynak and Polly could not understand him, except that he was saying something about Klep.

  Tynak said, “You, goddess, did help Klep. Help this Zak.”

  Polly gestured. “I only held Klep’s hands while Cub set his leg. I would help if I could, but I have no training as a healer.” She could not tell whether they understood her or not.

  The old healer indicated that he wanted to see her hands. Polly held them out, and he took them in his, looking at them, back, front, nodding, making little sounds of approval. He held out his own hands again, then indicated that he wanted Polly to hold her hands over Zachary’s chest as he was doing.

  “Stay,” she said firmly to Og, and knelt beside the healer. He put his hands over hers, and together they explored the air over Zachary’s chest, and she felt a strange tingling in her palms, and her hands were no longer ordinary hands, and they were not functioning in ordinary time. She did not know how long their four hands explored, moved, touched Zachary’s heart without ever touching his skin. Slowly, discomfort moved into her hands, and a feeling of dissonance.

  The old healer raised his hands, and suddenly Polly’s fingers were icy. She looked at the healer. “Power,” he said. “Good power. Not enough.”

  “What’s he saying?” Zachary demanded.

  “He’s saying that together we have good power.”

  “You’re not a doctor,” Zachary said. “Does he know what he’s doing?”

  “Yes. I think he does.” She wondered what Dr. Louise would feel.

  “You really do?”

  “Zachary, these people don’t think in the same way that we do. They look at healing in a completely different way.”

  “So am I healed?”

  She looked at the old man. “Is he better?”

  “Better. Not—”

  “His heart?”

  The old healer shook his head. “Better, but not—”

  “What’s he saying?” Zachary demanded anxiously.

  “He says your heart is somewhat better, but it is not cured.”

  “Why not?”

  “He says there is not enough power.”

  Zachary seemed to shrink. “Why not?” His voice was thin, a child’s wail.

  The healer rose and beckoned to Polly. She followed him, calling over her shoulder to Zachary, “I’ll be back.” Og was at her heels like a shadow as she and the healer went to Klep’s tent.

  He greeted them, smiling. “The healer says I am—am a marvel.”

  “You’re healing well,” Polly agreed. “You’re young and healthy. You’ll be fine in a few weeks, as long as you do what Anaral says, and take care of yourself.”

  The healer spoke to Klep, then bent to look at his leg, nodding in approval.

  Klep said, “He wants you to know that you helped. But Zak’s heart is bad.”

  “I know,” Polly said. “Oh, Klep, he is so frightened.”

  “Healer has helped. If he had more power, he could help more. Why is Zak so afraid? Life is good, but where we go next, that is good, too.”

  “Zachary doesn’t believe that,” she said.

  “He thinks it is bad?”

  “No. He thinks it’s nothing. That he’ll be gone.”

  Klep shook his head. “Poor Zak. Healer will try again. Try to help.”

  Could he, Polly wondered, when doctors with all their modern tools of surgery could not? But that the old man was truly a healer in some way she did not yet understand was certain.

  There was nothing specific for her to do. Wherever she went, the two guards were in the background, not approaching her, but keeping her in sight all the time. She walked around the village with Og, but the villagers were nervous about the dog and shot fearful glances at Polly. She did not understand why the fear was also angry, but there was no mistaking their antagonism.

  She did not know what was on Tynak’s mind. He spent a long time in his tent with Zachary, and came out, looking at the sky as though seeking a sign.

  Doe brought Polly her lunch. She drew away, but did not leave. Polly asked, “Why must I eat alone?”

  Doe shook her head, glanced at the guards. “Tynak.”

  “Why are people afraid of me?”

  “Goddess.” Doe’s eyes were troubled. “Where rain?”

  Shortly after lunch Tynak came to the lean-to. “Angel?” he asked.

  Polly brought the icon out of her anorak pocket and held it up so he could see it, but did not give it to him.

  “An-gel has power?”

  “Yes. For me. Good power.”

  Tynak pulled the sketch out from under his tunic. “Power.”

  “Power is mine,” Polly said firmly.

  “Mine.” Ty
nak put the sketch away. It was crumpled, as though he had shown it to many people. “Come.” He beckoned, and she followed him, Og at her heels. Tynak led her past the village, along a narrow path through the forest of great and ancient trees, until they came to a clearing. All the trees that surrounded the clearing were completely defoliated. Not a single leaf was left clinging to the branches. The trunks and limbs were dark and bare and somehow sinister. The trees farthest from the clearing held a few fading yellow leaves, so pale as to be almost white, and one by one they were drifting listlessly to the ground. In the center of the clearing was a large rock with a flat top, slightly concave. Tynak went up to it, and Polly followed him. There was a foreign chill to the air. Polly felt an oppressiveness on her chest, so that she gasped for breath. On the rock were rusty stains.

  Polly pointed. “What?”

  “Blood,” Tynak said.

  Blood. Dried blood. So this was where sacrifices had been made, and where Tynak was considering a new sacrifice.

  Og growled, low and deep in his throat. Polly put her hand on his head and tried to still the apprehension which prickled her skin.

  “An-gel protect?”

  She tried to look haughty. “Yes.” Quickly she pulled out the notebook and pen and made another sketch of Tynak, not as good as the first, because her hands were shaking in her hurry, but still recognizable. She reached in her pocket for the scissors, and cut the picture in half. Then she looked at Tynak. “Power.”

  Tynak clutched his chest as though she had actually hurt him.

  Polly put the pieces together, shut the notebook, and put it back in her pocket.

  Tynak was visibly shaken. “An-gel give knife with two blades?”

  “Angel guards me. Og guards me. Why are you bringing me here?”

  “Place of power.”

  “Bad place,” Polly said.

  “Good power. Makes rain. Makes Zak’s heart good.”

  “I want to talk to Zak,” Polly said sharply.

  Tynak gave her a sly, slantwise look. “Goddess’s blood has much power. Tomorrow full moon. Power.”

  She had to ask directly. “Does Zachary know?”